(no subject)

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane can't figure out Moriarty and that bothers him--bothers him a lot. It's the reason why he's up when he shouldn't be, sleep schedule messed, and it's the fourth or fifth time he's paced his own room that he fires a text off to one Jim Moriarty. ]

My place when you're available.

[ Nothing else. He's at least figured that no matter the circumstances Moriarty will come at his own leisure. The best he can do is wait. ]

Comments

[spider]

[He couldn't help but smile, pressing it into the kiss. Now he willed himself to invade further, a tongue slipping between Jim’s lips, twisting around and teasing the other man’s tongue, greedy for drawing out low moans. But their clothes—a barrier from what he apparently intended to claim. Just a layer that needed removal, as Richard Brook to Jim Moriarty and Dr. Jonathan Crane to his own. Another reason to pull back, much to his annoyance.]

Clothes. Off.

[A demand from a spoiled brat, matched with eyes that declared "you're mine now." The King has spoken and he's not one to let go. Otherwise, heads will roll. It would be disastrous to end this relationship in such a way, so why not comply?

A finger finds itself trailing up Crane's neck, smoothing over his chin and meeting at his plush lips.]

Pleeeeease, Jonathan?

[He's the one wearing the crown, so OBEY.]

[notmydiagnosis]

[ It takes a slight bit of prodding--only slight--and it's that sweet, sweet voice that startles him more than it should, making his mind move back, back, back--to his great grandmother, and how bad things would happen the moment that syrupy voice came to bear.

He slowly loosened his tie, and the blazer came off. The sweater vest as well and it was only until he was in his white button-down and slacks and he's already leaning in for another kiss, unable to take his hands off of one Jim Moriarty despite the glare. ]

rollssss SORRY BABY so much creepiness

[spider]

[His own meet to soothe into hollow of his cheeks, lingering with false tenderness. The tips of his fingers gingerly scrape by their own accord, uncared for, as his focus is a bit more thankful for the uncomposed motion of tonsil hockey. But it's like a knock, a thought without pith—similar cheekbones. Hell, he's multi-tasking in a performance that barely requires coherent thought. There's the soft sound of his breathing through parted lips, gestures that trick into caring. It's gentle as it is nearly enough to lullaby him into snoring. A quick fact, there is the odd phenomena of a spider eating another spider, but that would imply something more. Specificity in species, who is performing the mating dance, and well, what would happen if something goes wrong?

He likes to make that clear, first defined by the afflictive set of motions: A push and hands that intend to smother all sweet breath that struggles to enter; choking. He removes one to begin slipping off his own clothes, a set of motions that display a desperation to be fast, quick, and to the point. Weight on top of the other man, he leans in and breathes against his ear, now intending to tease his nerves.]

I.

[Those damned hands again, tracing along until it stops at his trousers. Oh, nice, that was kind of you to keep on. There's the hasty sound of pants unzipping without permission.]

Will tear you apart.

uh hello crane literally gets off on fear it is OH. KAY.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's breath hitches--not that he has a choice--and it's Moriarty's words, the way he's holding him--Crane's mind is jumbled nerves and odd connections and fear, pure fear, and he's never felt so elated, so turned on than this moment.

And still, all he can say is this: ]

Let go of me.

[ But don't, Moriarty, don't--Crane has never been so secretly thrilled in his entire life.

[spider]

[His response is a delighted chuckle into his clavicle, briefly sucking bruises into every manageable spot. They are little kisses that trace a map where he has claimed, tugging away fabric to expose inch after inch of warm flushed skin.

Eventually his interest shifts, now with distracting, sleazy eyes blinking up at him.]

Alright, if you say so.~

[Hush of words following in that Cheshire cat grin, plunging into a deeper insanity that calls for torment. Pressing himself up by the chest, he tauntingly causes his lower half to push forward, creating delicious friction. His voice is lilting, slightly raspy from a throat that hardly holds back a moan:]

If you change your mind, you could always beg.

[notmydiagnosis]

I'm not begging.

[ But he's simultaneously urging to get free, to buck his hips (which he does), and the lets out a grunt that's less of a moan and more of a growl, grabbing the other by the hair and pulling him upwards, eyes narrowed.

he wants nothing more than to smack that smirk off his face but he's never been so turned on in his entire life. ]

[spider]

[He would welcome that petty physical challenge, inwardly. Just as he tolerates a groan, missing his chance to deafen it while biting down on his own swollen, bloodied lower lip. Damn.

Meeting that look with a sniff of disdain, he lets his hands enthusiastically continue their process, tugging both thumbs under the waistband of trousers.]

Sweetheart, you're playing hard to get. [A beat. Ha. Ha.] Wellllll, we could always glare into each others' eyes? That's an entertaining way to get off.

[His voice drips with a sickly sweet tone. Hon-est-ly, he's looking a bit restless, squirming in this bullied hold to find contact.]

Oh wait, you prefer screamy, waily activity. That's intensely different.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's response is a buck of the hips, getting a little, tiny bit of leverage that makes him press up against Moriarty and actually sit up, both of them half-undressed, breathing. Panting. ]

You will scream for me, Jim.

[spider]

[Swallowing down a sound, he buries his face into Crane's shoulder. Sweat begins to bead his pale body, a drip streaming by a dark smirk. One swift movement and he's pulling him closer, moaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, drinking him in like a man lost in the desert. He pauses with a sharp inhale of excited breath, following in a chuckle.]

Kinky.

[Searching hands eventually find their way, ripping constraints to curl tapered fingers around his cock, running smooth strokes down its length. One withdraws to remove his boxers.]

We'll have to see. [—A smooth, entrancing voice—] I bet you ten quid you're screaming "Jimmy" first~